


give me back the night

by wesninskis



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pre-Relationship, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21803320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesninskis/pseuds/wesninskis
Summary: The invitation informed him that he, and a plus one, were welcome to join the class for a night of dinner and drinks on September the 30th. Jon knew from dating paperwork at the Institute that evening that the day was the 25th. He had no interest in going to some pub and mingling with his old classmates, drinking cheap liquor and pretending he cared about whatever successes they had managed in the past ten years. However, not showing up at all sent its own message.(A jonmartin fake dating au, featuring a school reunion)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 13
Kudos: 275
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	give me back the night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleulily (wollstoncrafts)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wollstoncrafts/gifts).



> I didn't quite get a Christmas theme in there, but take this fake dating au! I did my best to make it as un-american as possible, but I am certainly not a brit. This is set somewhere in season 3, it's where I thought it'd fit best. I hope you like it! <3 It was my first time really writing Jon and Martin overmuch, so hopefully I did an okay job!
> 
> Thank you to my bud Jasper for beta-ing for me!

The heavy cotton cardstock in Jon’s hand was thick and smooth under his fingertips, and seemed entirely too expensive for the garish colors and patterns emblazoned on it. Directly opposing the creamy white paper, an offensively bright pink banner, the center cradling a serifed  _ 10, _ was printed heavy-handedly in the corner. A blue line swiped beneath it, and at the bottom. And in between, gaudy lettering proclaiming an invitation to “Kings High School’s ten year reuinion for the class of 2007”, though the school had been renamed only a few short years after they’d graduated. 

The invitation informed him that he, and a plus one, were welcome to join the class for a night of dinner and drinks on September the 30th. Jon knew from dating paperwork at the Institute that evening that the day was the 25th. He grit his teeth in irritation as he wondered if Jessica Brown (whom he was supposed to “Contact to RSVP!”) had delayed in sending his invitation out, or if it had just gotten stuck in the groaning wheels of the forwarding address system. Honestly, it could’ve been either; Jessica had never much liked him when they were in school together, but he was also living in a new flat after he had essentially been forced to abandon his last one. 

He felt the cardstock crumple a bit in his hand, and Jon forced himself to soften his grip and drop the paper onto the counter. He had no interest in going to some pub and mingling with his old classmates, drinking cheap liquor and pretending he cared about whatever successes they had managed in the past ten years. Not least of all because his own were embarrassingly few. He’d made head archivist at the Institute, but that was more through the machinations of eldritch powers than his own merits. He doubted that the people who would show up were much different than the teenagers they had been, which meant the night promised to be uncomfortable at best, and truly miserable at worst. 

However, not showing up at all sent its own message. Whether it was “Jonathan Sims, still thinking he’s so much better than the lot of us” or “He’s still a freak, ain’t he, that Sims?” depending entirely on the person. To say that he hadn’t gotten along well with his classmates was a bit of an understatement. 

Jon rubbed his hands over his face, hard, and groaned into them. He had the literal end of the world to worry about, and this is what he was concerned about? The opinions of a handful of people he hadn’t seen in ten years? But he was nothing if not a prideful creature, and he’d had more than enough hits on his ego as of late for him to let something like this slide. Which meant that he had to actually show up,  _ and  _ plan how to best prove that he wasn’t an irredeemable loser anymore. He groaned again, irritated, and dropped his hands, stalking off to bed where he could at least be comfortable while he pulled everything apart again and again like taffy in his mind. 

All that he had really figured out, several hours later, was that most major accomplishments would be too easy to be seen through if he lied, but a successful relationship wasn’t one of them. Jon wasn’t exactly the type for social media, and he hadn’t kept up with any of his peers, so they’d have no way of confirming nor denying. Which was great, except he didn’t  _ have _ a successful relationship to show off like a shiny trophy. Briefly, he had considered asking Georgie, but dismissed that idea pretty readily. They’d gotten friendlier, again, after he had stayed with her, but there were still too many awkward start-and-stops between them. Asking her to pretend to date him again, even for a night, would be painfully uncomfortable for the both of them. No, Georgie wouldn’t work.

The only others he was really close to were the people he worked with at the Institute. Melanie and Tim were right out, on account of their disdain for him, among many other things, and he’d rather put an awl through his own eye than deal with Elias’s amusement if he had to ask him. Which left only Martin, and the thought filled Jon with reluctance for a whole different reason. He was quite, well,  _ fond  _ of Martin, despite his stuttering and nervousness, and he didn’t want him to see the way his classmates thought of him. Martin was also, however, a very lovely man, who was bright and friendly and doting, and would be perfect as an example of a loving and affluent relationship.

Which is how Jon found himself awkwardly approaching Martin’s desk the next afternoon, after Tim and Melanie had left to go pick up lunch, and Basira was off reading in a corner of the Archives somewhere. Tapping his knuckle against the edge of Martin’s desk, Jon flicked his gaze to Martin’s eyes and away again, focusing instead on the space just over his left shoulder. 

“Oh! Uh, hi, Jon. Can I- can I help you with something? I’m still in the middle of the follow-up on Ms. Hernandez’s-” Martin started, shuffling a few papers on his desk together, but stilled when Jon waved his hand dismissively. 

“Mm, no, no. This isn’t. Well, it isn’t about work, exactly. I actually had a bit of a favor, to ask of you,” Jon started, abruptly doubting himself again even though he had torn this particular encounter to pieces dozens of times over the night before already. From the corner of his eye he can tell Martin’s perked up and is looking at him with a distinctly curious expression, and he looks even farther to the left. “I got an invitation to go to a reunion, of sorts, for my secondary school. And me and my classmates didn’t exactly  _ get on, _ as it were. So if I show up by myself, like this” and Jon waves a hand up and down to vaguely encapsulate himself, “it’ll just give them more to work with. So I was wondering, well, ifyou’daccompanymeasmydateforthenight,” he ended in a rush, resolutely not glancing at Martin’s expression.

“Wait, hold on. Are you saying you want me to, what, be your fake partner? If I caught that right?  _ Why?” _ Martin asked, incredulous, and so Jon looked over after all. He looked baffled, which baffled Jon in turn. “You’re a kind man, Martin. You know all of the staff here, enough to know that whoever from Research is getting married soon-” 

“Glenn.” 

“-and you know how to keep a conversation going. They’re not going to expect me to show up with anyone, let alone someone as, as... _ good _ at being sociable and affable as you. You’re free to say no, of course,” Jon hurried to add, scratching at the still-healing burn scars on his right hand uncomfortably. “I understand it’s a bit  _ much,  _ to ask you, especially as your boss. And I rather doubt it’ll be an enjoyable evening, all things considered. On second thought, just, forget it-” 

“No, hey,” Martin reached forward and put his hand on Jon’s forearm, expression earnest, and face flushed with some other emotion Jon couldn’t read. Social cues had never really been his forte. “I’d be happy to go with you. Besides, free food, right? Might as well see what we can get out of it, yeah?” he laughed, a bit stiltedly. Jon felt warmth flush through him at Martin’s agreement, and he gave him a smile that might’ve been more of a grimace. He felt distinctly glad that he hadn’t asked too many questions about why he was going in the first place, or why he didn’t get on with his classmates. He’d see more than a bit of it, likely, there, but he didn’t need to see the pitying twist of lips he’d always gotten from the guidance counselors. 

“Quite. Thank you, Martin. It’s the 30th, so Saturday. I can pay for you to rent a suit, if you don’t already have one, of course, I don’t mean to imply-”, Jon cut himself off with an irritated noise. “Anyways. If you need, I'll get you a suit, I need to rent one myself. All of mine went...somewhere, while I was dodging Elias’s murder charges,” he said, voice wry. It helped not to think too hard about how many times he’d had to buy a new wardrobe, at this point. It’d only just upset him.

“Oh, that’s okay! I’ve got one, actually. Haven’t worn it in a bit, but it should still fit well enough. Thank you though.” And on they went, planning back and forth - what their fake partnership will entail, when the cab will pick up Martin, when they’ll arrive - until Tim and Melanie returned. At that point, Jon gave an awkward goodbye and retreated to his office, ignoring the dirty look Tim was throwing him, presumably for talking to Martin, or for daring to exist outside of his ‘spooky office’.

They pick away at their plan over the course of the next few days, late at night when everyone else has left, or when they’re away, and by the time Saturday rolled around they had worked out pretty much everything that could be, beforehand.

The cab that Jon had hired dropped them off right outside the pub that the reunion would be happening in. They both paused on the sidewalk outside of it, Jon tugging down the cuffs of his suit anxiously, trying to cover as much of his skin as possible. The collar and long sleeves are a blessing, but besides wearing gloves, nothing can cover up the warped burn scar on his right hand, or the pocked worm scars on the left, and really, only a truly pretentious prick wears gloves to a faux-casual event like this. If he’d kept his hair down, it’d help hide some of the marks on his neck and face, but it’d also look like he had rolled right out of bed to come here, and, no. So instead it was tied back neatly with a black elastic, white streaks arching back from his temples impossible to hide, and making him look prematurely grey. 

The longer he stood there, the more Jon considered just  _ leaving, _ just turning around and going home and calling it a night, but Martin’s hand on his arm stopped him. Feeling himself instantly relax by increments, he looks over at Martin. He’s wearing a slate grey suit, a soft pink tie matching Jon’s own in an effort to appear coordinated. He looked concerned, for Jon, not for the situation. 

“Are you okay? It’s just a reunion, right? I’ve never been to one, of course,” Martin followed with a vaguely self-deprecating laugh, “but it’ll just be a few hours of awkward small talk and then we get to leave.” He squeezed Jon’s arm before dropping his hand, and Jon took a deep breath and held it, before letting it out, hard. He could really use a cigarette. But he figured that the rental place would get upset if he returned the suit smelling like he chain-smoked a carton of them, so he decided to refrain for the evening, a decision he was already regretting. 

“Yeah, I’m. It’s fine. Let’s go in, shall we?” Jon asked, starting forward without waiting for a response. It wasn’t  _ Martin _ who was unwilling to go in, after all. When they stepped in the door, he held the door open for Martin to slip inside and then followed him with a final, near-desperate look out at the retreating tail lights of the cab. Just inside the door was a fold-up table covered in name tags, and a chipper looking woman handing them out. Her name tag said “Jessica Brown”, and Jon felt his face twitch in distaste. 

“Good evening! Name, please? And is this your plus one?” Martin sidled up closer to Jon and smiled politely at the woman while Jon answered, voice stilted. “Jonathan Sims, and Martin, my...partner.” He didn’t want to introduce him as a boyfriend, it made it seem less serious, less important, but neither of them were wearing rings, and he didn’t want to be called out for it. Partner sounded both serious and vague. At his words, Jessica’s smile visibly dimmed, but she still grabbed two different name tags from the table and handed them over. 

“There are markers at the end for you to write your name,” she said to Martin, who grabbed the blank tag with a smile and wandered over to write his name, “Drinks and snacks are at the far wall, dinner will be at 7. Myself and Amber Singh are around to answer any questions. Have a good night!” Jessica waved him away, and Jon shuffled over to Martin, peeling the backing off his tag as he went. His had bright pink edges, with “JONATHAN SIMS” written in large black print in the middle. Martin’s was bright blue, and had “MARTIN” scrawled across it in Martin’s neat handwriting. 

“Ready?” Martin asked with a smile, and Jon hummed noncommittally, glancing out over the open space. There were several of his classmates there, and if Jon had to guess (didn’t have to guess, Knew as soon as he thought of it-), he and Martin were nearing the last to arrive. 

“Will be more ready if I have a drink,” Jon muttered, grabbing Martin loosely around the elbow and carting him towards where Jessica had said the liquor and food was. Martin just laughed quietly and followed along placidly. The table for drinks was about as poor as Jon was expecting, a few bottles of various cheap booze and several liters of soda. There was also a pair of coolers underneath, filled with two or three brands of beer and bottles of water. Why they didn’t just have the pub pour them drinks Jon didn’t understand, but he figured it was in the interest of saving money. 

Jon poured himself a vodka tonic - stronger than perhaps was average, but not so strong as to put him under a table by the end of the night. Conversely, Martin seemed happy enough with just a bottle of water. While they were there, they poked through the food set out, but anything that was any good had been eaten by the rest of the attendees. Figures. At least it probably wouldn’t be too long until dinner, though what was being served was anyone’s guess. 

“Was there anyone you wanted to, uhm, find? Say hi to, I mean?” Martin asked him, startling him out of his thoughts. Glancing towards him, Jon gave a grimace that could be called a smile if you were feeling particularly generous. 

“Mm, no, not particularly. I meant it when I said that me and my classmates didn’t get on. Really, I’m only here because-” Jon was interrupted by an overly loud voice calling “Is that Jonny Sims?” A large man with broad shoulders and slicked back hair was staring at them from a small circling of people a few meters away. With a sigh, Jon gently grabbed Martin by the arm again - he hoped dimly that Martin wasn’t feeling like a dog on a leash - and made his way over. The man’s name tag confirmed Jon’s suspicions: “GREGORY RICE”. Gregory was a bit of a jock, back in school, and so Jon tended to avoid him just on principle. The only notable interaction the two of them had had been Jon calling him Greg while trying to eek past him. In response, Gregory had pushed him into the locker and snapped that  _ Greg _ was a name for a boring-ass office temp, and that  _ his _ name was  _ Gregory. _ So the fact that he had been called over by the man was unexpected. 

“Sims! I thought it was you!” Gregory-not-Greg said boisterously when Jon and Martin reached the group, his voice still over-loud, “I’ve gotta say mate, I’m surprised you came! You were always a squirrely little shit.” The rest of the group laughed, and Jon gave a sort of half-hearted chuckle. He could feel Martin giving him a look from his side, and kept his gaze in the general direction of Gregory. “And who’s this now? Finally manage to pull your nose out of your books?” There was another small spattering of laughter. Tugging gently on Martin’s arm, Jon drew him closer to his side, and Martin gave a short little wave. 

“This is Martin Blackwood, my partner.” Jon paused, taking in the expectant faces, and continued uncertainly, “We met at work.” Everyone still looked pretty interested, and also completely unsatisfied with that small amount of information, and Jon looked at Martin imploringly. And like a right angel, he stepped into the conversation effortlessly with a warm smile. 

“Hello, everyone,” Martin started, removing his hand from Jon’s grip to wrap it around his waist instead, “it’s good to meet you! When Jon got the invitation, I told him we had to go.” It was a blatant lie, but he said it with such a bright voice that everyone nodded along, and Jon relaxed into his side. 

“Wow, Jonny, didn’t think you had it in you, what a catch,” another of the men gathered, Tony Brennan, snorted. He had been one of Gregory’s friends, back in school, and it was utterly unsurprising they’d chosen to clump together. Tony shot a look at Martin and smiled in a way that made Jon bristle, the fact that he and Martin were not actually together notwithstanding. “No offense, of course, Mr. Blackwood.” Martin’s laugh this time sounded flustered, and Jon grit his teeth, hard enough that he heard the muscle in his jaw pop. It wasn’t, wasn’t  _ jealousy _ , or anything of the sort. It was just rude, was all, to flirt with someone who’d literally just described themselves as unavailable. In response, he, perhaps pointedly, wound his arm around Martin’s back, settling his hand on his hip. 

“Well, he’s the one who asked me, nearly shocked me out of my chair,” Martin responded, shooting Jon an amused, warm glance that had him looking down at his shoes. He knew this whole charade had been his idea in the first place, but Jon was beginning to regret it, and they’d only just arrived. It seemed like too much, too genuine, for someone who was at the best of times just barely his friend. It felt like he was forcing Martin into an awkward spot, forced to act like he cared for Jon more than he really did, and the thought of forcing him into anything made his skin crawl. With a reminder that Martin had agreed of his own free will, Jon tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Martin ask, “Oh? What was he like, then, in secondary school?”

It was an innocent enough question, and Martin’s tone held nothing but genuine curiosity, but Jon couldn’t help it when his hand tightened its hold slightly on his hip. Of all the people who could’ve been asked, these aren’t exactly the ones Jon would have chosen. Especially when they all looked at one another and laughed, the kind of laughter you used when the new intern asked a truly dumb but well-meaning question. Martin flicked a glance at him, squeezing his waist slightly in response to his tense muscles until he forced himself to relax again.

“Oh, Sims was a bit of a weird prick, wasn’t he?” Gregory asked the group, who all nodded along demurely, as if this wasn’t an incredibly rude thing to say. “Always reading books and off in his own world. Smart as hell but couldn’t take a hint to save his life.” Tony laughed again, and a woman at his side (“OLIVIA BANKS” her name tag told him) chimed in with, “He’d start on about something or other, whatever stupid thing he was on about that day, and you’d have to tell him you didn’t give a shit to shut him up.” 

Jon remembered Olivia. She’d been nice to him, at one point, though he couldn’t remember what she’d done for him. He’d taken that as a sign of, not friendship, but maybe a general sort of camaraderie. He’d tried a few times, to talk with her about whatever topic had caught his interest recently, but after she told him to his face that he was annoying and  _ “why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?” _ , he gave up on it. Looking back, he couldn’t imagine why he’d thought it’d been a good idea. The only thing he could remember thinking, or feeling, clearly, was just overwhelming helplessness. Being reminded of it made him flush with shame, though, and he looked back down at his shoes as the people around him laughed. At least Martin didn’t. A quick look at him out of the corner of his eye showed him frowning, just slightly. 

“Looks like he’s still a bit of an odd duck, though. What with the…” at this, Gregory motioned vaguely towards Jon’s hand, and the pocked scars on his neck, before ending it with a little flourish at his hair. Jon hadn’t ever considered himself terribly self-conscious, even after getting the scars; he had several other things to worry about than his appearance, like the literal end of the world. But the way his old classmates laughed, only a half-step from a jeer, made him feel like he was 15 all over again, under a microscope and trying to just survive until graduation. 

Martin’s smile was visibly more tense, this time around, when he spoke. “Well  _ I  _ think he’s still quite handsome,” he said pointedly, before leaning over and kissing Jon quickly on the cheek, a there-and-gone-again gesture that made all the blood in Jon’s body rush to his face. He clutched at Martin’s side for a minute before clearing his throat and muttering an “excuse me” before extracting himself and fleeing in the direction of the washroom. On his way, Jon threw back the entirety of his drink, throwing the empty cup in the bin on his way.

He stepped in to the washroom and made his way to one of the sinks, leaning against it with a heavy sigh. He considered how out of place it would be, to leave before dinner, and then considered whether or not he cared. Turning on the tap, as cold as he could get it, he decided that if Martin was enjoying himself they could stay until just after dinner, but if not...If not, he was going to indulge the tight, heavy feeling in his chest and leave. 

He was filling his hands with water to throw into his face for the second time when he heard the door groan open, and froze. He couldn’t see who it was without turning, and he hadn’t exactly cleaned up his face just yet. Slumping to rest his elbows on the edges of the sink, he tilted his head to hide his face and resolved to shuffle out as soon as whoever it was was passed the sinks. As he threw the second handful of water into his face, he thought the water dripping into his ear made him imagine Martin’s voice in the quiet conversation happening in the still-open doorway. 

“Well, if you ever get sick of hanging out with that pompous asshole…” the voice of Tony said, followed by an annoyed huff. “Are you seriously hitting on me? He might be a “pompous asshole”, but at least he isn’t encouraging some man he’s only just met to cheat on his fiance,” Martin responded, voice chilly, before footsteps pressed into the washroom, and the door swung audibly shut. Martin was still muttering irritably to himself, snatches of words that Jon couldn’t hear, when he saw Jon leaning over the sink, and he went from seemingly cold to flustered all at once. Martin gave a cursory scan of the room before rushing over to Jon’s side, his hands fluttering in front of him like he wanted to reach out but was unsure of his welcome. 

“God, Jon, I’m- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, we didn’t talk about- I just-” Martin cut himself off, one of his hands finally coming to rest on Jon’s elbow. “I’m sorry. Are..are you okay? I didn’t mean to embarrass you-” The motion of Jon straightening up stopped him from saying anything more, and when Jon looked at him he looked anxious and flustered. The sight made the heavy feeling in Jon’s chest twist, and he turned, catching Martin’s hand before it had a chance to fall. 

“No, it’s. It’s fine, Martin, I didn’t leave because of you. You were lovely.” He paused, trying to find words for that sick, oppressive feeling edging up his throat. It made his lungs feel like they were compressing. “Listening to them talk about me was just, uncomfortable, I suppose,” he said finally, lamely, as if that at all helped explain the depth of why he’d left. Martin seemed to get it, though, from the expression on his face. He squeezed Jon’s hand and patted him near the elbow with his other hand. Jon wondered vaguely where his water had gone. 

“Yeah, they were right pricks, weren’t they?” Martin asked, tone wry, startling a sharp peal of laughter from around the fist in Jon’s chest. Well, he wasn’t wrong. Still though…

“I don’t...If you want to stay, we can. I did promise you dinner, after all. We just got here, I’d hate to have taken up your time-” he looked up from where he had been staring intently at the knot of Martin’s tie to see him making an amused, fond look, and his jaw shut with a  _ click. _

“Honestly, Jon,” Martin sighed, in a  _ what am I going to do with you  _ tone of voice, “if you think I care more about getting, what, free food? Over you being comfortable, you’ve sorely misunderstood me.” And that was true. If Martin “brings people tea and knows everyone’s daughter’s dog’s names” Blackwood was really the type to be insistent on staying, Jon wouldn’t have brought him in the first place. He slumped, hesitating before leaning forward and setting his forehead on Martin’s shoulder. Jon felt the other man jump, but he didn’t move out away from him, so he figured it was okay. He was just damned tired, and he’d barely done anything. He allowed himself to stand like that to the count of three before pulling back, out of Martin’s arms completely, clearing his throat and sliding his hands down his suit to smooth it. 

“Right. Well. There’s a pub, not far from my flat, if you’re interested in dinner, that is.” Jon said, after a probably too-long pause where the two just sort of stared at one another. Martin’s face brightened, somehow, and he smiled. 

“I’d love to, Jon. Maybe we can make tonight decent after all, yeah?” Martin hesitated before holding out a hand, and Jon slid his own scarred palm into his and let himself be pulled out of the washroom and out of the pub, where they stood huddled together on the sidewalk to call a cab. And if Jon leaned into Martin’s arm and twined their fingers together, well, that was nobody’s business but their own. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are Greatly appreciated.


End file.
